


A Time of Secrets and Decption

by wildair7



Series: The T'Pira Chronicles [8]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 21:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15649278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildair7/pseuds/wildair7
Summary: Ten years after the formation of the new planet of Meldana, the Matriarch, Vera Hopton, is called to the bedside of a dying Leonard McCoy where he reveals the last of his secrets. But this is only the first secret Vera must live with, and as time goes on, the Federation calls upon her to engage in deceitful acts she thought long left behind her.





	A Time of Secrets and Decption

“A Time of Secrets and Deception”

 

T’Pira Chronicles: Part V

 

 

_“Breathe. Just breathe. Inhale, exhale, calm your emotions and save their outlet for later.”_

     The scarlet, silken-like panels of the garment she wore flowing to the sides in her rush down the black-tiled corridor of Regency Hall, these were the words Vera Hopton, who bore the Vulcan name of T’Pira, heard within her fifty-year-old brain. She recognized the masculine voice as the one belonging to her brother-in-law Tregar.  Dressed in snug-fitting stark trimfits, enhanced with braid at the cuffs and collar, he followed two steps behind her, as befitted a bodyguard. Others accompanied them, fore and aft, wearing plainer outfits of red and black, protecting their Matriarch, although the elaborate, carved-walled vacant hallways posed no visible threat.

     _“I’m well acquainted with the method of subduing my emotions,”_ she replied silently in return.

     _“Still…,”_ he answered.

     Minutes later, they reached her personal chambers and dismissed the other guards, whereon Tregar closed the doors behind them. When he turned, Vera had collapsed upon a plush, nearby chair upholstered in heavy, intricately embroidered fabric of blue and green, interspersed with threads of gold and silver. Hardly practical, it showed the wear and tear of her frequent occupation over the last twelve years. He watched a moment as she pulled away the confining high neck of the stiff, multi-hued, full-length gown she wore which fitted her upper body like a glove.

     Hitching up the confining fit crotch of the pale blue skinsuit he wore, Tregar claimed a seat opposite and watched as she gave way to her pent-up emotions she’d suppressed during the meeting of the High Council an hour earlier, followed by a private meeting in her office with the Minister of Education.

     The High Council meeting had been difficult enough, with their reversal of most of her initial decrees during the formation of Meldana. They also rejected her edict only Humans could marry a member of any of the former Romulan races or a Vulcan. They rejected the rights women were given and further decreed, now the new Meldanan race was secure in numbers, that no couple should have more than two children.

     Vera agreed with the last, in essence. Two children per couple would maintain the present numbers…if each couple produced one male and one female child. This logic, of course, ignored the fact that a couple might have one child or none, might have two females or two males. As a Matriarchal-based society on both Vulcan and the worlds of the Romulus and Remus system, women were usually given stronger rights, those equal with men if not exceeding them. But, argue as she might during the Council meeting, composed of eight former Romulan and Vulcan women, three Romulan men and three Vulcan men, and chaired by an elderly Vulcan, the members remained steadfast in their judgments.

     During the discussion, Vera knew Tregar had used his telepathic abilities to assess each member’s mind and inner thoughts, despite the fact most blocked his attempts to do so. Later, the two of them would discuss these, but not now. Now, Vera needed to vent her thoughts on the meeting with the Minister of Education and the latest decision of the Board of the Meldanan Science Academy.

     “For months, I’ve fought this new policy of isolating the students at any of the boarding schools from outside influences, so they could concentrate on their studies. But when they added this would include any contact with their parents, even correspondence, it rankled my nerves. As you know, before I signed that Law, I asked for a poll of every household on the planet concerning the feelings of parents or potential parents on such isolation from their children. I still don’t understand how over eighty-percent could approve being eradicated from the lives of their sons and daughters lives for so many years. Naturally, with those results I signed the damn thing. But what angers me most is, with Starak at the Academy, they’ve forbidden me access to him, as well. How can they, Tregar? He’s my son, my only child, a Prince of Meldanan. How can they forbid my being a part of his life during these formative years? When will I even see him again?”

     The tall blond former Romulan leaned back into the chair where he sat. “I disagree with their reasoning that he and the other children will have role models through his instructors, as much as you, Vera, and understand the hurt you must feel…the despair.”

     “Does this mean he’ll never know me or see me beyond the day,” she interjected, “less than a month ago, that I took him there to enroll?”

     “It would seem so. At least Tlasus can visit him and be a part of his life.”

     “Not so.” Vera rose and handed Tregar the tablet she held with a recently uploaded report from the Education Board of the Meldanan Science Academy.

     Tregar read the contents carefully and frowned. “A forcefield surrounding the entire complex? This means,” he commented, handing back the tablet, “not even Tlasus’ essence can enter.”

     “Exactly.” Again, she sat, this time with a long exhale of air.

     “How do you feel about the Council’s decision for the name changes?”

     The matter Tregar referred was another the High Council had decided, whereon, henceforth, women would bear the L-apostrophe prefix to their names, instead of T-apostrophe. Now, Vera would be known as the Matriarch L’Pira, rather than T’Pira, as previously.

     A wave of her hand indicating compliance, she began “I have no problem with it. I never think of myself by my Vulcan name, so it makes little difference. You know, day by day, it seems my once powerful position grows weaker, what with the High Council taking over all my decisions, so…”

     “So…?” Tregar asked, leaning forward in anticipation.”

     “I’ve decided it’s time I visit the various planets, Starbases and outposts to meet with ambassadors and other delegates. At least it will get me away from here for six months or so, and then I can return more cleansed of anger and frustration.”

      “Which means the High Council President will act as Regent during your absence?”

      Another submissive sigh answered his question, followed by, “Thus the Law is written, since I have no heir.”

     “When do we leave, Vera?” said Tregar.

     “Two days from now. Will you take care of the arrangements?  We’re to meet _The Cresas_ at Starbase Ten. Starfleet engineers are done with it and have reconfigured the exterior to be less Romulan, even doing away with the red Bird of Prey emblem on the ventral surface, and she’ll be registered as Meldanan.”

    “What of her crew?” asked Tlasus.

    “She now requires only five rather than ten, being smaller. The High Council has assigned two of our top experts in psychology and anthropology, as well as medicine, to travel with us, wanting to investigate those more particular aspects of the various worlds I should visit. Also,” she added, “ _The Cresas_ has been outfitted with the latest technology for space travel, not only interstellar but interdimensional and time travel.”

    “They expect you to travel across dimensions as well as time?” she heard Tregar’s say in his unusually deep voice.

    “If the scientists convince me of the importance.”

    “Would they have you ignore the Prime Directive?” asked Tlasus.

    “Seems so.”

    At that moment, obviously sensing Vera’s distress, a glowing form materialized beside Vera’s chair into that of her deceased husband, Tlasus and she rose to embrace him, causing Tregar to smile.

     “Welcome, Brother.”

     One shimmering golden arm wrapped around the still narrow waist of his wife, the essence of the man, who’d once been the Matriarch’s consort, turned and held out his free hand and firmly gripped that of Tregar.

     “Brother.”

     “We’ve been discussing the latest Council meeting and Vera’s plans to go off-world for several months,” said Tregar.

     “It’s about time, my love,” replied Tlasus, kissing her cheek. “You haven’t had so much as a vacation since I died.”

     “How could I? There was too much to do, and Starak was so small, he needed me whenever I could afford the time. And you know how I hated leaving him in the care of nannies.”

     A knock on the door interrupted the threesome’s further words, and Tregar answered it, begging the red and white uniformed messenger to enter, at the same time taking the opportunity to make his exit and arrange for the Matriarch’s travel.

     “Your Worthiness,” said the young woman, handing Vera a tablet, “this is an urgent subspace message from your friend, Dr. McCoy, on Starbase Four.”

     With Tlasus temporarily dissolved to nothingness at the interruption, Vera took the tablet and dismissed the woman, and he once more took solid form, as messenger backed out closing the door behind her. Then they listened as Vera played the audio recording.

     “Vera, dearest girl, I beg you come. I’m at the Starfleet Retirement Center on Starbase Four.”

     A look of concern passing between the couple, Tlasus shook his head, saying, “This doesn’t bode well.”

 

     Two days later, as Vera, completed her packing, dressed in a dark green skinsuit-gown combination, a rap on her door preceded Tregar opening it and announcing the presence of Talon. Once a member of Tlasus’ crew on _The Cresas_ , after their arrival on Meldana, the middle-aged man and his dark-haired, human-appearing wife, Phaedra, with him, had both become good friends with the Matriarch and her bodyguard throughout the years.

      “Phaedra, dear girl,” said Vera, hugging her close and kissing her cheek, then holding her apart to study the large bulge at the young woman’s loosely gowned, dark-blue midsection. “Your pregnancy is progressing well, I see.”

     “Things are perfect. It will be a girl, we’re told.”

     _We’re told,_ Vera mused silently, _not I_. Already they enjoy the singularity of being a loving couple not individuals, the same as she and Tlasus had been and still were, for the time being.

     “I wish you an easy delivery and the best of health.”

      She regarded Talon, whose green skinsuit encased his muscular frame, and noted the look of love in his hazel eyes when gazing upon his wife and the way his large hand caressed her belly. Like Tlasus and Tregar, he, too, was blond, his heritage being one of mixed ancestry, but composed of the various racial stock of the planet the Federation called Romulus.

     Talon turned his attention from his lovely wife to Vera. “We heard you were going off-planet, so hoped to see you before your departure.”

     “Ah, yes, and I’ve no idea when I’ll return. By the time I do, this one,” said Vera, with a nod of indication at the unborn child, “will be grown and ready for marriage.”

     “Surely, not so long,” said Phaedra, now known as L’Phaedra.

     “I hope not. By the way,” said Vera, changing the subject, “has anyone heard from Spock’s wife?”

     As Tlasus’ had predicted, Spock’s wife had returned to Earth within a year after his leaving, not taking either child with her and leaving Vera as their guardian—a fact she’d been informed of afterwards. In the interim, no one had heard from Spock, neither had he visited his children or Meldana once.

     The couple exchanged a brief look and sighed. “Nothing,” said Talon, shaking his head. “What will happen to Selton and L’Manda if you’re leaving?”

    “Both are well enough at the Academy for now, though barely gained admittance. Why Spock chose such a mentally inferior woman to bear his children, I’ll never understand. He knew, fair well, intelligence is inherited from the mother. At any rate, I leave their futures in the hands of the High Council.”

     “Wasn’t your son to marry L’Manda once they came of age?” It was L’Phaedra who spoke.

     Vera nodded in response then added, “But that lies many years in the future. Only time will tell if they will agree to the contract once old enough. I’ve no intention of interfering with their decision to marry someone else for love, should that occasion arise.”

     Tregar entered the room, announcing, “Your Worthiness, all is ready, if you will come.”

     Vera glanced about the room, as more men and women, all dressed in Regency servant’s colors of red and blue swarmed into the room and removed the various trunks and chests in their departing wake.

     A last hug with both Teras and L’Phaedra in parting, Vera smiled, as always feeling a special closeness to this couple, the woman with a mind similar to her own, and the man with a compassionate nature like Tlasus.

     “Peace be yours, my favorite ones,” said Vera in leaving.

     “And may peace be yours, dear one,” they said in unison.

 

     With the two scientists from Meldana and one of the major Science Facilities on Starbase 20 on their way on to _The Cresas,_ Tregar accompanied Vera, now dressed in a different, dark blue skinsuit-gown, to Starbase 4.

     On their arrival there at the major Checkpoint, Vera remarked to her companion, “Things have changed so much.” Glancing about her and noting the more elaborate wall decorations and highly colorful murals, she added, “But then it’s been over thirty years since I was last here…”

     “When Tlasus stalked you.”

     “Ah, yes. If only I had known, I might have stalked _him_.”

     “Actually, I saw you first.”

     “You did?” said Vera as she handed her papers to the officer on duty, who met her eyes with his ones of steely blue, no doubt seeing if she showed any of the tells of presuming to be other than what her documents showed. Satisfied, he handed back her papers and motioned her forward, whereon Tregar presented his own proof of identity.

     Beyond the checkpoint and walking across the busy mall, Tregar answered Vera’s last question. “Well, you’ll have to ask Tlasus for the details. I’ll just say, we had a kind of game back then and Tlasus overruled me and claimed you as his.”

     Vera nodded, already guessing what kind of game he meant. Men were men, after all, regardless of their species.

     Upon reaching the Starfleet Retirement Center on Starbase 4, she was guided to the quarters assigned to Leonard H. McCoy, MD, PhD, DAM, DEM, etc., etc.  There, she encountered her old friend and confidant, laying in a narrow hospital bed, sheets as pale as his abnormally white complexion. Taken aback by his appearance, after seeing him only through video letters for the last decade, Vera noted his thinner than usual aspect, and her medically trained eyes took in the larger than usual bags under his and the weaker, returning embrace when she leaned over and gave him a hug.

     The comfy, synth-leather covered chair dragged from the wall to his bedside, she sat and took his withered hand, her other hand smoothing back the snow-white hair from his temple. At her loving action, a faint smile curved the old man’s lips, causing Vera to grip his hand a bit tighter.

     “Sugar,” he voiced barely above a whisper, “we need to talk.”

     “I assumed as much. What is it, now?”

     McCoy seemed to swallow a large lump in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing noticeably up and down before he spoke.

     “There’s something you should know.”

    “Another of your deep, dark secrets?”

    “My last, and one I’ve kept from you way too long.” He inhaled sharply, as though in regret at what he would say. “Sugar, I know we’ve discussed your decision regarding—”

     Vera cut off his next words. “And my feelings are still the same, Leonard. My choice was the only reasonable one.”

     “Is that why you never wanted to see the ultrasounds to see the facial features or hair color, never wanted to hear the heartbeat, or know the sex of the stillborn infant you gave birth to?”

     “I simply had no interest in knowing. What difference did it make?” she asked with a shrug. “Facts were facts, nothing would have changed my decision to give it up to a worthy family.”

     “And never wondered about it now, what it would be doing, whether married, dead or God knows what all?”

     “No, not once. Genetically, the child would bear the dominant physical characteristics: dark hair, Spock’s dark eyes and long nose, probably his tall, rather gaunt physique, too. If a boy, the nose might be shaped more like mine and the eyes, as well. Knowing genetics as I do, I would also assume the child would be intelligent. Since it seems my Adani features, regarding ear and eyebrow shape are dominant over Vulcan ones, I would further assume the child would have Human appearing ears and eyebrows. Otherwise, as I said before, it makes no difference.”

    A feeble squeeze of her hand, forewarned Vera that McCoy would now reveal the secret he’d held back over the years and mentally prepared herself. But she never expected the words which came from his mouth.

     “What if I told you, you gave birth to twins, and one survived.”

     “Which is the reason you rushed me to surgery. The dead one blocked the normal birth of the second?”

     “Yes. A girl, one adopted into a loving family unable to bear children, who has now reached

adulthood.”

     Vera lowered her head in thought and wondered why she still felt no increase of emotion or

the least bit of curiosity. Reflecting on her previous words of how the child, now a full-grown woman of thirty-four, would appear, she nodded in acceptance, until McCoy further said, “She contacted me, Vera.”

     Head raised to meet her mentor’s eyes, she stammered, “Me-me-meet me? Why? How can I? No, I don’t want to meet her!”

     “Any adoptee comes to a point in their life where they need to know their heritage, Vera. How can you deny her that?”

     “And like any adoptee, she’ll assume I abandoned her, without a single thought, when all I did was assure her future in a normal, stable environment, instead of one spent in daycare or a boarding school with an absent, single mother, who couldn’t bear to look at her, because doing so would bring back memories of the man who raped her. Does she know that?”

     “I thought it best coming from you. All I’ve told her is I would contact you. She knows her genetic racial heritage. The rest is up to you. There’s more to consider.”

     “What’s that?”

     “If you acknowledge her as your daughter, she becomes your heir.”

     Risen abruptly from the chair and releasing McCoy’s hand, Vera started pacing the room, hands raking through her hair but consciously avoiding placing her carefully coiffed arrangement into disarray. Finally, her thoughts calming, she resumed her seat beside the bed and reclaimed Leonard’s frail hand.

     “All right,” she said, nodding, “I’ll write her, a real letter in my own hand, not a video transmission. That will make it more personal, won’t it? I don’t want her to see me, not yet. Maybe after my time off-planet is done or some other time in the future, I’ll tell her of her hereditary right, but it will be up to her if she wants to be acknowledged. I won’t force her as I was forced.”

     With a nod of his head, McCoy indicated a tablet sitting on the table against the wall opposite the bed. “Her file in on there, as well as a photo and contact information. Do with it what you want, Sugar. I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”

     A brief look at the table, Vera returned her attention to her old friend. “You’re dying, aren’t you? The stem cell treatment didn’t work.”

     A long exhale of breath followed her statement, and he nodded. “Stubborn Southern blood, I guess. None of my ancestors lived very long, so I imagine what lies here before you to be partly genetic.”

     Both his hands now in hers, Vera said, “I can’t lose you, too, Leonard. First the news of Spock, and then Jim, last year. You’re my only remaining real friend. You can’t leave me, too.”

     “You have the essence of Tlasus, still, and the advice and arguments of both him and his brother Tregar. And you have your son.”

     Vera became mute, knowing the uncertainty of ever seeing her son again, and that the time would come when Tlasus would eventually leave her a true widow, devoid of his presence, to move on with her personal life and learn to grieve as all widows, thus opening her heart for someone new, the man Tlasus foretold as he lay dying.

     “Is there anyone you want me to contact?” she asked McCoy, at last.

     Head shaking in reply, he said, “Who’s left, besides you? All I have is yours: my land holdings and old house near Savannah, Georgia passed down through five generations, including what wealth I’ve accumulated during my service to Starfleet that hasn’t been eaten up by this place and my medical care. I’ve already contacted my lawyers. Destroy my medical files to ensure patient privacy. Don’t know how many are still alive, but I think it the best course.”

     “Whatever you say, I’ll do. Anything else?”

     Weary, blue eyes closing briefly, he opened them and placed his other hand over hers. “Indulge an old, dying man and stay here beside me til I…”

     Obvious he knew his declining state, Vera could see Leonard found the words impossible to

speak, because it would mean defeat, something he could never admit. This, however, was happening. Disease, old age, and lack of a reason to live had conquered his will power. So, in response, Vera edged closer and laid her head upon his bony chest, releasing her pent-up tears, and felt the slight weight of his hand upon her head in a fatherly gesture.

     She could hear the faint beating of his heart, the ever-lengthy weakening exhales and inhales of his last breaths and then the seeming, never-ending final, complete emptying of his lungs. A few more echoes of heartbeat later, they too went silent, and Vera remained in the same position, sniffing away her tears.

     Had her dear friend held onto life to see her one last time? Her last friend, his last friend, now parted forever.

     Vera leaned back into the chair then rose, crossing to the call button and requesting the shell of what had once been a great Starfleet doctor and researcher be removed and cremated, as she knew he wanted. His ashes would be scattered on that plantation in southern Georgia, the late spring winds casting them among the dark green leaves of the giant, twisted liveoaks and the dark red clay of his birth.

 

     Minutes later, the attendants removed the body of Leonard McCoy, and Vera began gathering the few items in the room: a holographic portrayal of himself, Jim, Spock and herself in their Starfleet uniforms at some event of the few she attended on the _Enterprise_ , along with his various framed awards hanging on the wall. Elected Starfleet Physician of the Year ten times in a row, more than any other in history, he’d also received numerous awards in research and alien genetics. One certificate hung in a prominent place at the center of all these, larger and more ornate than the others: his graduation certificate from the Harvard School of Medicine. All these placed in a clear plasticene box supplied by an orderly, the last thing she removed was the tablet from the single table in the now sparse room, where only outlines of framed certificates patterned the bare walls as a reminder of the man who had occupied this space.

     “How little we leave behind us,” Vera murmured to herself. “What will I leave, I wonder? Who will want my mementos of times past: Tlasus’ fur-lined cloak, the dress I wore when we wed, the first flower he gave me?”

     A heavy sigh later, she exited the room, handing the box to Tregar who’d stood outside the entire time, but the tablet she removed from its position atop all else and clutched it to her bosom until she could be alone. Tonight, inside the privacy of her quarters, she would mourn Leonard’s loss and read the file on the woman who wanted to know her birth mother. Then, and only then, would Vera decide what to do next.

     First, there was the gala she must attend at the Meldanan Embassy tomorrow night. She hated crowds but would be expected to make an appearance. As a widow of twelve years, she would be pleasant but maybe a bit reserved, as befitted a High Matriarch of such racial background. Should she flirt with attractive men? Should she get a little drunk? Should she wear something more revealing to show off her full breasts and small waist, or dress more demurely in attire appropriate to her political rank?

     As Tregar accompanied her back to their quarters at the Meldanan Embassy, her brain cursed, _Damn, so many decisions!_

    She could sense her brother-in-law’s mind delving into hers in the telepathic way he and Tlasus could, her thoughts open to him for many years and knew she could trust him to keep her secrets to himself. She also knew his abilities would divulge any thoughts or secrets delegates or members of the High Council or others would keep from her. Yes, he did serve an important function in her life. But, despite his physical attractiveness, remarked on by many females, which Vera heard in passing, and his resemblance to Tlasus, she never felt anything but kinship toward the man.

     Yes, he had his flings, but remained unmarried, having promised Tlasus he would guard Vera with his life and believing marriage would interfere with the performance of this duty. Seldom from her side, she knew he admired her intellect and tolerated her oddities, in the way Tlasus had/did, but they still argued, more often when Tlasus’ essence had been absent for several days. It was then, Vera found it difficult to control her frustration or emotions and raised her voice or quickened her usual measured steps along a hallway, in a hurry to be put distance between herself and the cause of her anger. Lately, this had been the various ministers and members of the High Council and, most recently, the President of the Meldanan Science Academy Board.

 

     Inside what had once been the Vulcan Embassy and now the Meldanan one, Vera changed behind a tapestry screen in her sumptuous chamber into a looser, bright red gown while Tregar placed the clear box in a nearby corner.  Emerging from the screen, she took up the tablet from where she’d placed it on the gaily-covered bed, head and foot intricately painted in gold and silver scrolls. With Tregar sitting beside her, she felt the presence of Tlasus’ essence taking form on her opposite side as she opened the file, designated “For Vera’s Eyes Only,” entered the secret decryption code only she and Leonard knew and waited.

     A deep breath later, she tapped the subfolder icon, and it opened, revealing a thumbnail image of a mature woman. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, as predicted, Vera never expected the familiarity of that face. Another tap enlarged the picture, and she nearly fainted. There, before her gazing out of the screen were eyes shaped like Spock’s, arched eyebrows which appeared halfway like her own but different. The woman’s mouth was Spock’s. Her hairline was Spock’s. Even the shape of her face was Spock’s.

    “This is her, then,” said Tlasus, putting an effervescent arm about Vera’s shoulders.

     “It seems so.”

     “Scroll down,” said Tregar.

     Vera did and discovered the woman’s name, those of her adoptive parents and that of her husband. Along with these were her complete DNA profile, medical history and anything else which might peak Vera’s interest.

     “But this is…,” interjected Tregar.

     “I know.” Her breaths short and chest aching, Vera managed, “Tregar, find me several sheets of paper and a pen. If I don’t start that letter now, I’ll put it off indefinitely, and I want it sent to her before we leave here.”

     “As you wish,” the tall man responded and left, leaving her alone with Tlasus who held her tighter as they both stared at the woman’s photo on the tablet.

     Vera turned to her husband, eyes burning with disbelief. “How can it be, after all this time, our paths would cross?”

     “Have you considered what to say?”

     A nod of her head, Vera leaned against Tlasus’ broad chest and let the tears come as they may.

 

 

    An hour later, Vera sat at the elaborate desk in her “Matriarchal Suite,” dressed for the gala in a gown of royal blue whose low-cut bosom was emblazoned in gold with the old Romulan symbol of a _glesier_ , wings outspread and talons clutching a thick bundle of snow-white feathers, the last part of the original royal seal of Vulcan. Completing her outfit, a two-inch choker of brilliant diamonds, layered in eight strands, glittered about her slender throat and, suspended from the necklace, a thin rope of deep red rubies dangled, ending in an amethyst the size of a pigeon egg nested temptingly above the deeply exposed cleavage of her breasts. Dug up somewhere from the archives, several yellowed sheets of eleven by twelve-inch paper lay before her and an old gel-ink pen in her hand, also unearthed from somewhere in the embassy, she began the dreaded letter. A deep breath inhaled, she leaned forward and placed the pen tip on the surface of the top sheet.

     How to begin? “Dear Daughter, Dear the-name-that-was-in-the-file to her side?” Should she say, “Daughter of my body?” No, too blunt, too cruel.

     At last, Vera wrote:

     

_I have just come from the bedside of my dear friend, Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, who, with his dying breath, informed me of your existence_

     Satisfied with this beginning, she leaned back and considered the next words, then bent forward and added:

 

_which heretofore I knew nothing about. All I knew of that time was I had given birth to a stillborn infant, one I now know was your brother. Yes, I only learned his sex years later. You see, I never wanted to know and had planned to give whatever child I bore to a family who could raise it as I could not._

     Vera lifted the pen and gave what she would write next a great deal of thought.

 

_My reasons were varied, not selfish as you might think, but well thought out over many months. You might believe I never wanted you and are partially correct, because the events surrounding your conception were not pleasant ones. I shall let you read into that sentence what you will. If you have my intelligence, you will know its meaning._

_As you undoubtedly know, you are half Vulcan, one-fourth from me and one-fourth from your biological father. You are also a quarter Human and a quarter of a race called the Adani, a very Human appearing race, whose genes dominate Vulcan ones, unlike those of Humans, thus your outward appearance and, I imagine, your often-heightened emotions. This is your ethnic heritage, but there is more you must know._

_Your biological father is a descendant of the Vulcan Matriarchy, as am I. This means you are heiress to the throne of Meldana, superseding the claims of any other females born to your now deceased father. This status I intend to make known to the High Council of Meldana. When the time comes the present Matriarch can no longer serve or choses to step down, the position will be yours—if you desire. If not, the title will go to your half-sister, L’Manda when she comes of age._

_If you wonder about your medical inheritance, I can give you nothing, having never known my parents and being raised with loving care by others, as I hope you were. Of your father, I know of no medical problems in his line. Currently, I am in the best of health._

_You wish to meet, but I see no need for this. Your likeness in the file has fulfilled any curiosity I might have. You are a lovely woman, and I pray your marriage is one of the same happiness as_

_mine. But now, I am a widow who doubts she will ever know such love again. Cherish what you_

_have._

_I will not sign this letter, because if you search your mind, you will know my name._

     The letter carefully folded and sealed with wax, void of her usual royal seal, she carefully inscribed the name of the person and address listed in the file Leonard gave her, then thrust it into the letter pouch at the end of the desk. Now she began a letter to the Meldanan High Council.

     In this one, she gave her recent discovery, but only that the woman entitled to claim the Matriarchy of Meldana, was the daughter of Spock, including the source of her information. What she did not reveal was the name of the woman who had given that child life. Vera also affirmed it was she who wrote these words, by attaching a digital video file showing her writing the letter and then holding it up to the recorder, giving the name of the woman, she hoped, would agree to serve as Regent in Vera’s prolonged absence off-planet in these months, perhaps even years to come.

     These, too, inserted in the diplomatic pouch, she hesitated and then withdrew the letter to her daughter. This one, she now realized would be better off going by private messenger and delivered by hand, so she set it aside.

    A polite rapping on the door punctuated her decision, and she said, “Come,” after which Tregar entered and stood in the partially opened door.

     “The Ambassador wishes to see you before the gala.”

     “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

     “He says, no.”

     “Very well.” Leaving the pouch and removed letter on the desk, she rose and left with Tregar. Upon their arrival at the office of Ambassador Stomas, his two guards admitted her with bowed heads, and she strode majestically through the opened double doors, head held high and demeanor calm and aloof, followed by Tregar.

    

     Upon their arrival at the office of Ambassador Stomas, his two guards admitted her with bowed heads, and she strode majestically through the opened double doors, head held high and demeanor calm and aloof, followed by Tregar.

     Stomas, a tall, Vulcanoid man of dark hair and eyes…like many Vulcans, bent at the waist in formal abeyance, his slender frame covered in a close, two-piece suite of shiny gray, typical of the more moderate Vulcan taste in apparel.

     “Your Worthiness,” he murmured, straightening, “forgive me for having you come to me, but as my office is on the way to the ballroom, I hoped to save you the invasion of your private chambers with my presence.”

     “Enough, enough,” said Vera, waving a hand in the air in dismissal of further apology. “What is it?”

     “Your Worthiness, I just now received a communique from the Starbase Commander. He asks your presence at his office tomorrow morning.”

     “For what reason.”

     “He deigned not to say, only that the matter is confidential. He also requested you come at Oh-nine-hundred Starbase Time…, if agreeable.”

     “It is agreeable.”

     Vera eyed the Ambassador carefully, assessing his trustworthiness then said, “Ambassador Stomas, I have pouch in my chamber with letters I wish delivered to Meldana and, beside it, one I would prefer be delivered to a certain person there by private messenger, if you could so arrange it.”

     “Of course, rest easy, all will be done as you wish.” He came around the desk, after making a note on the tablet before him, and held out his arm, inviting her to place her hand in the crook of it.

     “Shall we go, then. If you will allow me to escort you?”

     “Yes, we shall.”

     Tregar lagging a few feet behind, they made their way downstairs to a brilliantly lit ballroom, festooned with banners in the Meldanan colors of scarlet and blue, bearing the same figure which enhanced her bodice. The crowd milling about below her, all wearing an array of varying bright colors amidst gold, silver and glittering jewels, all heads turned in her direction as she descended the stairs on the ambassador’s arm, a vision of superb royalty and wealth. At the bottom of the staircase, awaited the man’s human-appearing wife, hair a golden blonde, her figure exquisitely fitted in plain material, a perfect match to her blue eye color. When Vera and he reached the floor, the other woman standing there took her husband’s other arm, before he led Vera among the people, introducing her to the various foreign ambassador and other diplomates or persons of importance, some who had come from far away for this event, only. Among them, Vera noticed more than one pair of masculine eyes gazing upon the purposely revealed swell of her bosom, and the attention further drawn intentionally by the amethyst resting just above.

 _“Let them think I search for a new consort,”_ she conveyed silently to her ever-present bodyguard, “ _thus letting down any guard they have blocking your intrusion into their thoughts and motives.”_

 _“Agreed,”_ she heard within her head. _The man wearing green brocade to your left has definite intentions upon you, despite his wife’s presence.”_

 _“Men!”_ said Vera without speaking. _“Are the males of all species so…?”_

 _“Randy?”_ finished Tregar, using one of his and his brother’s many references to words appearing in those romance novels purchased by Tlasus many years ago, and which had made the rounds of the entire _Cresas_ crew during their years on the Frontier.

     Vera accepted the formal curtsies and bows of another couple, nodded their gesture and spoke meaningless words of platitude before moving on, expressing her thanks for their attendance from so far away.

      One repulsively fat, balding man, whose corpulent form was encased a badly-fitting suit of gray-green which only made his sallow complexion more unappetizing, took her hand and slavered his thick lips on its surface. Letting them linger there an unacceptable amount of time, Vera hid her immediate reaction to his assumed familiarity. Luckily, on seeing Tregar coming to his Matriarch’s side to forcibly interfere, Ambassador Stomas’ wife stepped up and took the man by the arm and led him toward the bar at the side of the vast room.

     “Sorry,” said the Ambassador near her ear. “Normally, he would not have been invited, but he holds great power on his planet, and when he announced his intentions to come, we had no choice.”

     “Such is the power some exert and which we are without recourse to refuse. I understand completely.”

    

    Hours later, Vera excused herself and, with Tregar’s ever-present company, departed for her Matriarchal suite. With Tregar retired to his adjoining rooms, and alone, at last, she collapsed on the bed and studied the ceiling, while a male figure dressed in a loose caftan-like garment of pale blue synth-silk, emerged from behind the dressing screen and laid beside her.

     One of his arms going under her neck and the other sliding across her waist, she turned and snuggled against him.

     “You look good enough to eat,” he said, causing Vera to giggle, because it reminded her of his comment the night he asked her to marry.

     “I hope you’re not too exhausted,” he added.

     “For you,” she murmured against his chest, “never.”

     “Good, because this new synthaskin fits so well, I’d hate to relinquish its properties of stretching in the right places to mere cuddling.”

     “Randy man! How can an essence be so inclined?”

     “Because it pleases and comforts you.”

     “Do you feel anything at all.”

     “I have my memories: memories of how my actions delight you.”

     “But you have no sense of touch.”

     “Touch has memories, too, Vera. I remember well the silken texture of your cheek,” he said, letting his hand wander there, “and the way your breast tissue yields to the pressure of my fingers,” he added, caressing one rounded mound and causing a sigh of pleasure.

     Clothing discarded in a matter of minutes, he physically comforted and satisfied her needs.

     Later, they lay beneath the covers of the opulent bed, her head upon his chest, the synthaskin complete with what had been his living complement of blonde hair centered between his well-developed pectorals, where she let her fingers twist and explore their strands.

     “Tregar told me, he saw me first, here, all those years ago,” she said, lost in her mind, “but you laid claim to me.”

     “Oh, that,” her husband replied. “I suppose you want more details.”

     “I can guess at what they might be, men being governed by their hormones.”

     “Well, back then we were randy youths, indeed, fulfilling our duty to the Star Empire as spies, like you were for Starfleet. However, we always took one day to survey the female population of our assigned surroundings and had a standing challenge.”

     “A challenge?”

     “Mm. One where we each chose the most attractive female in our sight and would see which of use could seduce the woman of his choice the fastest. Tregar did see you first and announced his intent, but when he pointed you out, I denied him, and said, ‘No, hands off that one, for she will be my wife.’ That said, we parted ways, and I stalked you for the remainder of our time there, whenever I could, and discovered, you, too, were on a spy mission after seeing the way you flirted with men obviously not your type. I would also see you leaving your hotel wearing a wig of blonde hair one day in an outfit of pale blue and then the next see you in a red wig, wearing a figure-revealing garment of emerald green. Each time you met with a different man.”

     “Did it make you jealous?” she asked, snuggling closer.

     “Yes, if you must know, but I realized a spy has duties, ones which might require sexual contact to gain trust and thus the knowledge one seeks.”

     “Because you were put in similar situations?”

     “Yes.”

     “That was one part of being a spy I hated, even though the occasional sex was meaningless. Luckily, I was able to adopt whatever role I needed, having had a knack for acting during my years at the Academy. As soon as whatever disguise I wore came off, I could easily revert to my old self, thank the gods.”

     “That was a role you played when I brought you aboard the _Cresas_ , wasn’t it? First affronted, then challenging, then trying to seduce me, by teaching me the Human custom of kissing, thinking you’d convince me to release you sooner than I wanted.”

     “You knew?”

     “Of course, and already quite familiar with kissing.”

     “That explains why you were such a quick learner.”

     “But I quite enjoyed my lessons. And, in the end, I seduced you, didn’t it?”

     “Yes, so why did I only realize I loved you days later.”

     “Because you were acting the part of a spy and wouldn’t allow your head to overpower your natural inclination to escape. Once you accepted the fact there was more to what you felt for me and that I felt for you, could you allow your heart to follow the major course.”

     Silent for a moment enjoying the other’s presence, Vera asked, “Why has Tregar never married? I mean, I know the two of you often discuss things privately, and he says he’s too devoted to my protection and his promise to you to have time for a mate, but still…”

     “The truth?” Tlasus said, giving her a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.

     “I insist.”

     A deep intake of false breath later, he admitted, “He has witnessed our relationship for years, yes?”

     “True.”

     “And knows your outward attributes, your intelligence and general attitude toward others: what stirs your anger or your sympathy, what defies your logic, and the loyalty you inspire. After observing all this, he’s set his standards higher than most Romulans and knows the rarity of those qualities among any female population. As he said, he doesn’t currently need a wife, and if he cannot find a woman with your qualities in the future, he realizes if he settles for less, his marriage will be like Spock’s, being saddled with a woman he cannot abide, because she is less than what he wants.”

     “Do you think he aspires to become my next consort? Is he the one you predicted with whom I would find new love?”

     Tlasus shook his head of shoulder-length blonde hair attached realistically to the pate of the synthaskin. “No, he’s not the one you’ll love, although in later years he might aspire for a higher political status. But not now. The Matriarchy is currently weaker than it should be, and I fear what the Council President will do in your absence.

     “You need a true Regent, so I hope your natural daughter will step up and assume that position. L’Manda is much too young and not intelligent enough to ever accept the responsibility, much less prevent the Council from governing her decisions. No, Meldana needs a Regent with the same determination to do what is best for her populace, the way you do.”

    “You’re right, of course.”

     Vera grew quiet, again, then said, “Why do you think the Starbase Commander wants to see

me tomorrow?”

     Tlasus held her tighter. “I wish I knew, but I sense his purpose is one of desperate need, or he wouldn’t be asking you to come to him.”

 

     The next morning, attired in one of her usual skinsuit-gowns, this one of emerald green, Vera, reported to the office of the Starbase Commander, accompanied by Tregar. Entering his office, they beheld a man of silver gray hair and dark eyes, a bit stout of figure with a chest full of medals on his dark blue uniform tunic, who rose with dignity as they came in.

     “Your Worthiness,” he said, with a nod of his head, “please have a seat.”

     Doing as suggested, Vera arranged her skirt and smoothed down the fabric, while Tregar stood beside her.

     Fiddling with the tablet on his desk, the tanned Commander Kyle Bonnet, his name revealed by the golden hued strip of metal attached to his desk front, looked downward then rose his head and met Vera’s eyes, before speaking.

     “I have a great favor to ask of you, Your Worthiness.”

     “Please,” said Vera, waving a hand at the formality, “just call me Vera.”

     The man coughed at the suggested familiarity but gave in. “Vera,” he began, again, “Starfleet Intelligence has a need for a woman of your poise and intellect, as well as your previous experience.”

     “My previous experience in espionage was over thirty years ago, Commander, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

     “Yes, but only you, currently, have the aptitude to pull off certain disguises, and your status as Meldana’s matriarch allows you access to many places our best-trained spies cannot enter.” He coughed and amended with, “Then there’s your pheromones which attract the males of many species.”

     Vera lifted her chin and answered with a mere, “Hmm.” Meanwhile, she accepted this news of her pheromones as the reason, so many men pursued her over the years.

     The words, “It would be for only a few months a year,” brought her back to the present.

     “A few months,” she repeated.

     “Yes. It shouldn’t interfere with your other duties and could be interjected with your regular visits to other Starbases and planets where you have official business.” While Vera remained silent, Commander Bonnet leaned back in his chair, adding, “Of course you’ll need to attend some refresher courses to acquaint yourself with the latest methods of self-defense and intelligence gathering. How long has it been since you last used what you previously learned?”

     “At least a decade, when I left Starfleet.”

     “I can train with her,” interjected Tregar, “whenever we have a few hours. I’ve kept myself in condition by daily exercises and sparring whenever time permits.”

     “She will still need instruction in the use of new weapons and techniques. You, too, so you can continue her training.”

      Tregar nodded in acceptance, and Commander Bonnet continued, “Several new worlds have been admitted to the Federation since you last served as a spy, and you should know the details of each race for future reference.”

     A nod of her head later, Vera said, “My bodyguard here is a former Starfleet officer and a former spy for the Romulan Star Empire, also. If I accept this position, I ask that he be part of it.”

     “His name?” asked the man opposite Vera.

     “Tregar,” the man in question answered, “son of Taloff and former Sub-Commander of the Romulan Bird of Prey, _The Cresas_.”

     “Ah, yes,” said Bonnet after tapping the screen of his tablet and bringing up Tregar’s records.

He nodded, obviously impressed. “I see no reason we cannot accommodate his implementation, as well.” He looked up from the tablet. “If you agree to accept this duty to the Federation, we can arrange your instruction, that is instruction for you both, as early as tomorrow morning.”

     “I shall think on it. I assume,” said Vera, adjusting her skirt as she rose, “these assignments will include all the usual use of any means necessary, including possible sex, to gain what is needed.”

     “Of course, and because of your ship’s adaptions for time and dimensional travel, some of your assignments may take advantage of those capabilities.”

     “I thought so.” Vera could almost feel Tregar’s red-hot anger billowing off his body behind her. “Well then, I shall consider you offer and inform you of my decision later today.”

      At the same time Vera rose, the Commander did so, too, and escorted her to the door, where a stormy-faced Tregar waited ready to accompany her back to the Embassy.

     “I shall eagerly await your decision,” said Commander Bonnet.

     Without another word, Vera and Tregar left, neither speaking a single word aloud or mentally,

each leaving their minds blank and saving their discussion for the time when they would be private within her suite.

   

     Upon their arrival at the Embassy, they went straight to her rooms, passing each guard or member of the Embassy staff without a nod or other manner of acknowledgement. Alone, Vera paced the confines of her outer room, pulling at the high, confining collar of her garment which threatened to stifle her rapid breathing.

     “Well,” Tregar said at last.

     Vera threw her hands in the air then stopped in her tracks and faced him. “What choice do I

have? Can I refuse to support the Federation? Can I dismiss their need for my so-called talents?”

     “But how can you accept such espionage when it might include sex?”

     “Am I married, Tregar? No, technically I’m a widow with no sexual partner to protest.”

     “But in actuality, you’re the opposite and know Tlasus won’t like you having sex with other men, regardless of the circumstances.”

     “No, I wouldn’t,” said a masculine voice from the ether, as a radiant figure began to materialize within the room.

     With him fully shaped into the physical solidity of her deceased husband, Vera reached out to his glowing golden form, her expression one of apology.

     “Beloved,” she said with heartfelt sincerity, “How can I refuse?”

     “In all logic, you cannot,” he said, taking her in his shimmering arms and drew her close. “But the thought of you in another’s bed disturbs me greatly.”

     “Such sex is meaningless, Tlasus. You said so yourself about our lives before meeting, and besides, such encounters may need only flirtation not actual intercourse. You know this.”

     “Knowing is one thing. Seeing is another. Know this: I will not, cannot be with you

then and will come only when your need for me, emotionally or physically, is great.”

     She hugged him tightly and let herself be comforted by the strength of his embrace. “I

understand.” A moment later, she asked, “But you’ll be with me on Meldana, won’t you, or on _The Cresas_ between missions?”

     His ensuing silence made Vera disturbingly uneasy. “Tlasus? You will, won’t you?”

     Behind Vera, she heard the door whispering closed, as Tregar gave them privacy.

     Now she parted the distance needed from her dead husband, so she could look into his eyes. “Tlasus?”

     The face Vera beheld was sterner than she’d seen previously, and his gray-green eyes refused to meet her amber ones.

     “Tlasus, speak to me!”

     At last, he did, but still avoided her pleading gaze.

     “I think it best I not.”

     “Why? Look at me, damn you! Have you ceased loving me since last night; have you discovered you no longer need me in your existence?”

     “That’s not it, Vera, it’s…”

     “What?” She regarded his blank expression a while longer then said, “Oh, that again!”

     “It’s for the best, Vera.”

     Usually, he would call her “his love” or “beloved,” now he merely referred to her by her assumed Human name, the one by which he’d known her from the first day they met…maybe even before.

     “So, you’d desert me, leaving me a true widow, bereft of your ‘comfort’ until my essence can join yours. Is that what you mean?” She noticed he still held her firmly, as though clinging to the last thread of the spiritual bond which connected them irrevocably.

     “Tlasus? Beloved?” she murmured, one hand reaching out to touch the golden shimmer of his cheek.

     His hand moving hers away, his arm released her, and he backed away. “We knew this day would come, Vera. You must move on with your life, and this latest development has only moved that event forward.”

     “Will you not even give me one more night of loving, one more night of peaceful sleep?”

Eyes still focused on his face, one which had turned away, she could only see his adored profile, where the disturbance on his brow indicated it furrowed in thought.  

     “It’s best I not. We need a clean break. If you’re to succeed in your missions and your role as Matriarch, you must cleanse your mind of me.”

     “And that’s all you can say regarding the years of our devotion. Will you still visit Starak? Will you still visit Tregar?”

     “Of course.”

     “But you don’t give a damn about me, right?” Not waiting for answer, she turned and walked into her bedchamber, slamming the door in her stormy wake.

    

     An hour later, when Tregar knocked on Vera’s door, reminding of her appointment with one of the visiting delegates, she shouted to reschedule the meeting and to cancel all her appointments for the remainder of the day. Aware of the obvious conclusion of what had happened after he left that morning, Tregar was more than upset with his brother. Vera might be a strong woman, emotionally, but she did have her limits, when matters involved conflict with those she loved.

     That night, with Vera abed in the adjoining chamber and her emotional sobbing penetrating the walls and playing havoc on his usually stoic demeanor, the essence of Tlasus began taking shape at the center of the room. Tregar watched him stand there, facing the door between the two chambers, the one which allowed Tregar immediate access to Vera if she needed his intervention. His brother seemed deeply moved at the sounds coming from the other side, but after a deep pseudo-exhale, he crossed the room and sat. Tregar joined him, taking a seat nearby.

     “What have you done to her this time?”

     “Broke off our contact.”

     “Hmph. That wasn’t hard to guess. But why so abruptly?”

     “It’s better this way.”

     “Is it? Do you know what she went through after you died, not knowing when or if she would ever see your essence? Did you consider the agony she faced, not just day after day but month after months, and the way she consulted all the authorities on essences who could only tell her, they knew nothing of our maternal genetics and whether that race could form an essence after death? They knew those who were half Human could not, although their spirits would depart the body but never achieve solid form the way those of Vulcans and Romulans could. She thought of killing herself, so she could join you in the hereafter, but the experts couldn’t guarantee she would have an essence, either, since they knew even less of the Adani, which meant Starak would be an orphan devoid of either parent. With that information, she existed day to day, enjoying young Starak, but it was you she longed for, especially at night. I can’t begin to count the number of mornings she would leave her house with reddened, swollen eyes from weeping herself to sleep.”

     “But I did come.”

     “After eight months! Why couldn’t you have waited to abandon her until her first mission deployment?”

     “I felt doing it now would be easier for her.”

     “Easier? Can you hear what I do?” said Tregar, gesturing toward the door on his right. “Does that sound like you’ve made things easier?”

     “What would you have me do, Brother?” said Tlasus giving his sibling a stern look. “Stay with her, indefinitely, until she goes on that eventual mission where she finds another man to love her?”

     “No,” said Tregar, shaking his blonde mane. “That’s not what I meant. But this,” he said, once more directing his hand toward the continued, heart-rending sobbing, “this is unconscionable.”

     “In the meantime, she still has you.”

     “Me? As if I could comfort her the way you do. I can support her, yes; I can belay her worries with logic and argument, yes. I can soothe her brow or stroke her hair, but these aren’t the same. You know that, damn you!”

     Tregar, never so infuriated with his brother, as now, had always considered him a man of honor. Now, his opinion had changed.

     Standing upright, Tregar deserted the chair and paced the room, his long strides eating up the spaciously carpeted floor while he further ranted. “I have never known you to do something so irresponsible, Tlasus! To desert the woman who has loved you without question throughout the decades of your relationship, a woman who remained faithful to you, even when separated by time and distance.”

     “If you’ll recall, I remained faithful to her, too,” countered the voice of his brother.

     “Yes,” said Tregar stopping in his tracks. “I’m fully aware of that fact. But, is your love for her, is hers for you, so petty you can dismiss it so easily?”

     “I’ve never dismissed it.”

     “Isn’t that what you’re doing now? Isn’t that what she thinks?”

     “I see your point but remain resolute in my decision.”

     Tregar plopped down in the chair he’d occupied previously and buried his head in his large

hands, muttering, “Gods, what a mess you’ve left me!” Suddenly, he lifted his head and stared at his brother.

     “Do you honestly think you can stay away from her, any more than you avoided her while living? Don’t forget your vow to do so when you gave her an ultimatum between having you or continuing her loyalty to Spock. Before we left for the Frontier, there you were, going to her on her first night aboard _The Enterprise._ ”

      “Things were different then, and my longing for her, both physically and emotionally, became overwhelming.”

      “And it’s not, now?”

      “An essence has only memories of longing, not the physical or emotional urge.”

     “How can you denounce your feelings for her so heartlessly? Is this what I must look forward to when I die? For that matter, who will mourn my death, who will crave my presence? Hell,” he said, standing without warning, “I hope I don’t have an essence but merely a soul, which evaporates into the ether.”

     “You might feel differently by the time that day arrives and, if you do have an essence, could always give it to an unborn child.”

     “If you thus abandon your wife and child, you could, too,” Tregar retorted.

     “One day I will.”

     “Is that so?”

     “Yes. That child will be Vera’s, by the man to whom she will one day give her heart.”

     Tregar nodded in understanding. “A child which will bear the essence resemblance, one with your eye and hair coloring. At least that will give her closure.”

     “And she will have the second child she has craved since Starak’s birth, the one I could never give her, the one I never had time to give her.”

     “Should I tell her this?”

     The glowing form of his dead brother-in-law shook its golden, shimmering head. “No, not yet. Wait until she conceives, and the child is viable within her. Then, and only then, should she know.”

 

     After leaving Tregar, Tlasus reverted to the usual invisible form by which an essence normally existed, then left the Starbase, spreading his ethereal substance impossibly thin to absorb the star energy of space, all the while thinking on his brother’s words, and had decided once, just once, he would visit Vera, again, despite his proclaimed resolve.

     An hour before the false dawn of Starbase 4, he stood beside Vera’s bed, watching her sleep, noting, in particular, the detail of sooty, featherlike lashes on her pale cheeks and the manner in which her long raven-colored hair lay spread like fan across the pink fabric of her plush pillow. He’d always like watching her sleep and then slowly awake when he touched her ever so gently, grazing his fingers across the curve of her face or hip, whereupon she would open those golden eyes and gaze at him with love. If he awakened her now, would he see love or anger in those precious orbs? Or would he behold disappointment? In the end, he gave in to his emotions—ones still strong within him, although based on memories of the past—and lay beside her, still without form.

     Was it his imagination that made him think she sensed his presence and drew closer in her sleep? Or did she do so to align her body more comfortably? Lips without substance graced her smooth, pale brow and fingertips slid along the indented plain of one cheek.

     “Oh, my love, my beloved,” he whispered, “will you ever forgive me?”

     Just then, her eyes opened slowly, and she said, “Tlasus, are you here? Did I dream your voice or are you present beside me?”

     _Should he speak?_ he asked himself. _No, best he not._

     She next said, “You know how I’ve wanted to wake up next to you as I always did when you were alive, and how I told you I missed it, when you began coming to me as an essence.”

     He remembered it well. Once, twice, many times, in fact, she’d asked him if there was a way he could leave her once she slept and then leave to gather his star energy and return before morning, so she could awake beside him. Those last weeks, she had asked for just a single morning to do so, but always he gave excuses, thinking what energy he expended in their nightly indulgences would prevent his gathering enough power to take solid form by morning. But last night they’d been apart. This morning he could grant her that desired wish. Did he dare? Would it make his departure easier or more tortuous? For either of them? He decided he could do no more than this, and this, he knew, must not continue much longer or he’d never depart and return to Meldana.

     There he would find a way to visit Starak; there he would observe Vera’s natural daughter and her family, watch over them and maybe visit them, as well, to guide her in her role as Regent. He was certain, once she read Vera’s letter and realized the identity of her birth mother, she would accept. All these things considered, he eased out of bed and vaporized away from Starbase 4.

 

     Training completed weeks later, Tregar and Vera set course for Earth, where her first assignment waited. But before that, they would visit Leonard's centuries-old plantation, called Wild Heron, along the Little Ogeechee River and twenty miles from Savannah, Georgia. Assured by the files on her old friend's tablet of her ownership and correspondence from the lawyer affirming all records were now in her name, they took a tour shuttle to Wild Heron, along with a dozen other tourists. Dressed as inconspicuously as possible, Vera, hair loose, in a drab blue set of trimfits and Tregar wearing one of the popular Meldanan skinsuit which detailed every part of his anatomy. She'd tried to veto his choice, but he insisted. Upon their arrival, however, this plantation was like nothing either expected.

     What had they expected? Something more like “Tara” from “Gone with The Wind.” But this wooden manor house, if one could call it that, no more resembled “Tara” than a mud hut resembled a palace. Made mostly of wood, it consisted of a single floor. No tall, stately columns enhanced the front entrance, and no sky-reaching stone chimneys flanked either end of the main dwelling.

     “Welcome to Wild Her’n Plantation,” evoked the colonial-dressed female docent in a heavy Southern drawl and waving her arms wide to encompass the crowd to join her. “What ya see here is believed to be the oldest wooden structshuh in Georgia,” she said, “built in Seventeen-fifty-six for Colonel Francis Harrie or Harris of noble English landownahs. At one time, the plantation consisted of eight-hundred and fifty acres but now is little ovah one hundred. The house ya see here was restored in 1935 by...”

       Vera turned the young red-heads words out and looked about her, the centuries-old palm trees Leonard had told her of which stood at either end of the long house, now gone. Inside, she knew from research, were an attic and a basement. In the attic she would find the tomes of Vulcan records Leonard had brought here from Sarak's estate, passed down to him by Spock after his father's death. Among them, she knew, resided a detailed account of the genealogy of every Vulcan since the beginning of time. In that, she hoped to find more information on her own father, and perhaps her mother, as well as Sarak's relationship to her father, said to be a nephew of T'Pau. This information, she would pass on to her natural daughter and present to the High Council, as further proof of that young woman as her rightful heir. For now, the strongest claim lay as Spock's natural daughter, his first-born daughter, superseding that of L'Manda.

     The other tourists had crept ahead, but the docent stayed back, making sure her charges were all herded into the house interior in respectful order. It didn't take her long to introduce herself to Vera and Tregar who had stayed back.

     “You must be the new ownah, Vera Hopt’n. I’m Felicity Harris, no relation, though to the ‘riginal ownah.”

     She took Vera's hand and gave it a firm shake then turned to look up at Tregar whose head

 resided far above hers. After giving him a thorough once over, they both heard within her brain, _“Well, tall, muscular and handsome, you can put your boots unduh my bed any ole time!”_

The twosome stifling a grin at the woman's words, and Vera noticed Tregar giving the woman a decidedly sexy half-smile and bit her lower lip to prevent a grin of amusement.

     “I think we best join the others, Miss Harris, don't you?” said Vera.

     “What?” Obviously still contemplating having Tregar's boots under her bed where more intimate action took place atop, the young woman had only half heard the question. “Oh, yes, yes, right this way.”

      The man and woman both noticed the noticeable drop of her Southern accent and smiled.

     Leading them into the house, Felicity made her way to the head of the tour group and continued, “Mr. Harris' daughtah ‘Lizbeth married Dr. Donald MacLeod... Yes, folks like the MacLeods of “Highlander” movie fame.  From them the plantation passed down through their line for many generations, when it was bought by an outsidah in Nineteen-thirty-five. Through her descendants, the McCoys inherited the property and this became a National Treasure.

     “You may be wondrin’, how this house survived Sherman's March to the Sea durin’ the Civil War, or as some call it, The War Between the States. Well, that's very simple, Sherman used the house as protection of the watah front...”

     The tour done, Tregar and Vera stayed behind, waiting to speak to the docent. Beneath her arm, Vera had carried the cylinder containing Leonard's ashes, which she meant to scatter at the family cemetery. He'd have liked that, since he spent much of his boyhood wandering these grounds. Oh, the stories he'd told her over the years!

      Now, she brought out the container and said, “These are the former owner's cremains, which I'd like to--”

     “Don't mention it. You saw the family cemetery earlier. Take them there if you like or maybe take the path to the River and scatter them there. It's nice and restful there, with the cypress shading the water and a cool breeze. Perhaps you and your companion could join me for some lemonade, latuh,” she added with a lustful glance at Tregar and batted her long, black lashes.

     “Uh, no thanks,” he said, “we're on a tight time schedule. Sorry to disappoint. Vera, which do you think?”

     The cylinder held in one hand, she stroked its shiny length with the other, thinking. “The cemetery. No, between here and the river, scattering a bit as we walk to the river. Yes, that way, he becomes part of the land he loved.”

     “I agree.”

     Their duty done, and the various bound volumes and other media packed up from the basement and attic, they caught the next shuttle to Savannah and from there transported to the waiting _Cresas_ to change into their disguises and beam down to the metropolis of Dallas/Ft.

Worth, Vera to extract vital information from a visiting Andorian and Tregar to occupy his wife while she did.

     Nothing noteworthy transpired, and with their individual tasks completed they moved on to the next Meldanan Embassy.

 

     During the next ten years, Vera, master agent of espionage, and her handsome companion, accomplished many missions of deceit and information gathering. Some politically motivated, some scientific, stealing secrets of technology or hitherto unknown intelligence on certain people. In almost all, she resorted to the use of her sexual attraction, as had Tregar. They never spoke of these instances afterwards, but Vera grew increasingly short-tempered, and their private—and sometimes not so private—conversations often dissolved into arguments.

     On Meldana, the Regency had regained its once powerful position, thanks to masterful intervention of Vera’s natural daughter, L’Phaedra, so by the time Vera returned from her first diplomatic tour, she found the High Council ready to receive her and make the concessions she asked. By mutual agreement, L’Phaedra and Vera ruled as co-Matriarchs, Vera giving her natural daughter the benefit of the many years of experience she’d gained in both Starfleet and serving as the founder and first Matriarch of Meldana. They never spoke of their relationship, and instead kept up the appearance of good friends when in private company. Each year, when Vera left for another three-month-long tour, L’Phaedra took her place.

     One year, a top-ranked Earth scientist was ushered into her office for a private, confidential meeting. Once the woman, wearing a plain dove gray one-piece set of slimfits, sat, she addressed her request.

     “My fellow researchers and I have discovered an item we wish further investigated.”

     “And that?” said Vera, mildly interested.

     “When we began going through some centuries-old documentation, we discovered the Phoenicians had sent a ship back in time to twenty-third century Earth in another dimension and left several drones there for observation while they orbited the planet unseen. These drones transmitted back some very interesting data, namely that, following a global nuclear war, several domed cities had been built prior to the destruction and housed isolated populations where their numbers were governed by death at thirty. This was insured by a police force called Sandmen in the vernacular and Deep Sleep Operatives in the official nomenclature.”

     “I see,” said Vera, more alert upon learning these details. “Continue.”

     “One oddity greatly concerns us.”

     “And that?”

     “We wonder what happens to the intellectuals, the craftsmen and the scientists who make up any society or culture. Do they, too, die at thirty? The only light in this regard is the rumors spread by the persons captured beyond these domed cities, who speak of a place called, Sanctuary. If Sanctuary does exist, it would be there we’d expect such people to contribute to future generations.”

     “So, what you’re asking me is this: to investigate one or more of these domed cities and determine if there is a place where those of higher intelligence or skill can live beyond the mandatory age of thirty.”

     “Yes.”

     “And what if I discover they have no such alternative?”

     “You are to destroy the planet.”

     To say Vera’s eyes registered shock at the answer, was mild to say the least. “Have you

Federation approval for this action? Because this is a direct violation of the Prime Directive, not to mention this civilization exists in an alternate reality, are we to decide what is best for those beyond our realm of existence?

     “Yet, the Federation gave full approval.”

     “Naturally, I’ll confirm this for myself. You may leave,” said Vera, bending to the tablet on her spotless desk. “I’ll be in touch with my decision.”

     As soon as the delegate left, Vera contacted the Federation President through a secure line. By this era, thanks to a fast relay system between Starbases, long distance communication no longer

resulted in a time delay between one end and the other, and currently only a few seconds lapsed

between one end of the conversation and the other.

     Confirmation received, Vera called Tregar into her office to make plans for the expedition.

     “Here’s the facts,” she said, when he took a seat opposite her and listened to what had been previously disclosed.

      “Quite interesting. Certainly nothing we’ve encountered before. I’ll accompany you to the planet surface, of course.”

      “No, I can do this better alone.”

      “Vera, I promised Tlasus—”

      “I’m sick and tired of your constant reminders of how you promised my late husband you would protect me. By now, you should be fully aware I can take care of myself. I don’t need or want your protection!”

      “Then, so be it. Good bye,” he said, standing and heading for the door. “I’ll await your further instructions…, _Your Worthiness._ ”

      “No need to be crass, Tregar.”

      He stopped and turned back, challenging her. “How would you have me behave, _Your_ _Worthiness_? Tell me and I will comply. Meanwhile, I’ll continue exactly as I have for the last several years, doing your bidding and ignoring what is best for you and Meldana.”

     “I think I know what is best for Meldana, not you.”

     “You’re a damn stubborn woman, Vera,” he said, leaning both hands on the desk and staring her down. “What would Tlasus say if he could see you now, the bitter, unbending remnant of what had once been the woman he loved?”

    “As if I cared,” she volleyed back. “He didn’t care enough for me to stay, did he? So, I don’t care what he thinks of what I’ve become. You’re dismissed.”

 

     Once more away from Meldana and at last in that part of the Universe closer to Earth, Vera and Tregar visited the now twenty-four-year-old Stark at Starfleet Academy’s Officer Training Facility. Upon entering the young man’s quarters, Vera was struck by the unearthly resemblance to her late husband and felt a tug at her heart. In reality, however, only his hair coloring matched that of Tlasus. Otherwise, his eyes were a deep blue. The Essence Resemblance, Tregar had explained, marking it up to the possible inhabitance of their grandfather, Torlasus.

     Beside Starak stood a striking brunette cadet, who Vera knew was her son’s fiancée Melanie, an Earth woman. When Vera first met the girl, five years before, she had discussed with her son the difference in aging between Meldanans and Earthlings and asked if he had spoken to the young woman of these facts. He assured Vera he had. But love was love and had its own priorities. This Vera knew quite well.

     “Mom,” he said once she and Tregar were seated in the sparse apartment, much like the one she and James Kirk had occupied many decades before. “Mom, we’ve decided to get married

next month, instead of waiting any longer.”

     “Oh,” said Vera, slightly taken aback at the unexpected news.

    “You will come, won’t you?” said Melanie, taking the hand of her future mother-in-law between hers.

      A brief exchange of remorseful looks passed between Tregar and Vera then she said, “Oh, children, if only we could.”

     Thankfully, Tregar finished for her. “We’ll be far away from here in a month’s time.”

     “Then we’ll put it off until you return. How long do you think?” This time Starak spoke.

     “It could be a very long time. Our mission is beyond your security clearance, Starak, dear. I wish I could say more, but…”

     “Mom, I understand. So, with your permission, and yours, too, Uncle Tregar, and your blessings, you won’t fault us for marrying without you present?”

     “How could we, Nephew. I think I speak for both your mother and myself, when we say, we wish you well and that you’ll find the same happiness your parents did.”

     Vera lowered her head, fighting back tears at the memory of her time with Tlasus, and didn’t say another word except monosyllable answers to the young couple’s questions. An hour later, she and Tregar left, leaving Vera to wonder, when or if she would ever see her son again.

 

 

     Many nights later, Tregar was visited by the essence of his brother, who appeared, as usual, in an effervescent solid but nude form. Immediately, Tregar tossed him a pair of breeches.

     “Why can't you put on something nearby? Why is it you always appear like this in your natural state. We may both be men, but your nudity disturbs me, even if Vera doesn’t seem to mind.”

     Tlasus laughed deeply and pulled on the garment, covering the lower half of him.

     “I suppose you want a report.”

     “Of course. How is she,” he said, meaning Vera.      “'Bout the same. Several mornings I pass her door as she's leaving, and see your cloak lying on her bed.”

     Tlasus shook his sparkling pseudo-blond mane, saying, “How can she move on if she keeps the memory of me alive. You must devise a way to get it away from her.”

     “And invoke her wrath? I think not.”

     “Then you must convince her. How can she torture herself, so?”

     “She'd rather torture herself than give you up.”

 

     Vera awoke to what she interpreted as two male voices from the adjoining quarters and went to investigate. Tregar's unit was the one she’d first occupied on being kidnapped, but truthfully those assigned the Sub-Commander. Tregar, sub-commander then, had relinquished his living unit for her use to his brother, and now served as Commander of _The Cresas._

     Tapping on the door, wearing nothing more than a thin silken sheath, she said, “Tregar? Tregar, open up.”

     The door slid aside, and she could see he was undressed and ready for bed, a sight any normal female would find stirring.

     “I thought I heard voices,” she said, pushing her way past him. “He was here, wasn't he?”

     “What if he was?”

     “Does he ask of me?”

     “Just because he no longer comes to you, doesn't mean he's ceased caring, Vera. You know this.”

     “Yes, but...” She turned about, satisfied Tlasus had left, and reentered her own quarters, followed by Tregar.

     “What are you doing up? Couldn't you sleep?”

     “No.”

     “Which makes your demeanor meaner in its aspect. And this,” he said, picking up the fur-lined cape which had been Tlasus', “this needs to go.”

     “No,” she shouted grabbing it back. “This is all I have left of him. I need it!”

     “What you need is a clear mind for this next mission! What you need is to quit brooding and face your responsibilities.”

     “I am facing my responsibilities! Aren't I? And who are you to tell me what I should do? Are _you_ Matriarch? No! Are you my superior in any way? No! You are nothing more than--”

     “I'm quite familiar with who and what I am, Vera. At least I have a clear head, unlike you. Have you even gone over the files?”

     “Yes,” she murmured sitting on her bed, the same bed she once shared with Tlasus. “Among the multitude of various cities and citizens, I’ve narrowed it down to one male which I think the most likely: a DS Operative in what was once San Antonio, Texas. That decision was made based on the surveillance drones’ reports. This man is different than the others: more serious, more mature. But I haven’t looked beyond his general description and skill set.”

      After picking up the tablet from her desk, Tregar came and sat beside Vera.

     “Let's go over the more pertinent details, shall we, since we're both awake.”

     “Very well.”

     Tregar opened the file, displaying the man's head shot, which he expanded to full figure with a spreading motion of his fingers on the tablet's surface.

     “Hmm, not bad,” they said together.”

     “Maybe he's the one,” said Vera.

     “And if not?”

     “If not, I return to Meldana and keep waiting.”

     “High Council is still pressuring you to choose a consort, aren't they?”

     “Yes, which I still refuse.”

     “And they insist on a man of Romulan heritage, correct?”

     “Yes.”

     “Let me propose this. If this man,” he said, indicating the one whose image they studied,” isn't the one, consider choosing me as your consort.” He could see her start to protest but added, “It would be strictly platonic, I assure you.”

     “But I'll be expected to produce an heir.”

     “There's always _in vitro_ or artificial insemination.”

      “I'll think about it.”

      Tregar stood and tucked the cloak under his arm. “Now get some sleep.” With Vera slipped beneath the covers, he raised them to her chin and then left, muttering to himself.

      But she didn't sleep. Instead, she continued to study the image of her target on a distant Earth of the past in a different continuum. Curly brown hair tumbled down to his shoulders, and distinct high cheekbones heightened her feminine interest. When she concentrated on his lips—ones made for kissing, she startled herself.

     No, she must not think like that! She must remain impartial. In fact, from what she read, this

man was unlike the others in his city. His intellect surpassed most, and he possessed a knowledge denied others. He would take some careful maneuvering. She wouldn't be able to lie to this man. He'd detect it, no matter how adroit she was at hiding lies and the various tells.

     She ran a fingertip down the curve of an eyebrow before her. Handsome didn't begin to describe him. In fact, her mind brought up what she had heard over a decade before on the Wild Heron Plantation: “He could put his boots under her bed anytime!”

    _Goodness, what had happened to her?_ Vera wondered. Not once in all the years since she met

Tlasus had she felt any sexual attraction for a man of any species. _But this one_ , she reflected,

_this one might very well be her destiny. Time would tell, and if not... No, she wouldn't think of that possibility._

     Meanwhile, for the first time, Vera looked ahead to what would come, something she had never done before.

 

 

     A deep silence ensued between the former Romulan and his sister-in-law during the jump to the alternate dimension, followed by the time warp to the twenty-third century of that continuum’s Earth. For the most part, they avoided each other. Tregar refused to return the fur-lined cloak Vera craved and a search of his quarters during his absence revealed nothing. For the most part, they avoided each other, until the day she would transport to a certain living unit in a certain sex-crazed, domed City in what was once considered Central Texas.

     A final meeting to discuss her course of action necessitated her seeing Tregar, but they maintained their physical, if not emotional, distance, and sat as far apart as possible with the scientists in attendance.

     “Three weeks should be sufficient,” said Tregar, turning to Dr. Elaine Proceban who oversaw all anthropological studies during this particular meeting. Blond and blue-eyed like Tregar, she was much too old to be interested in the Romulan man but kept her eye on him, nevertheless.”

      “Three weeks is enough, I would think, as well, Commander Tregar. However--”

     “However,” Vera interrupted, “a determination can only be made after I have 'boots on the ground' so to speak, correct?”

      “Yes, that also is true.” Dr. Proceban swiveled in her chair to face her associate, Dr. Phebus Mellanthius, a blue-skinned Andorian. “Do you agree, Doctor?”

      He scratched his white shank of hair, at the same time causing his antennae to waggle back and forth. “Yes, it seems only logical.”

     Vera hid a grimace at the hated word, but said nothing, and merely rose, ending the conversation.

     “I'll be in my quarters preparing for departure,” she announced.

      “What will you be wearing, dear?” asked Dr. Mellanthius.

     “I thought a skin suit.”

     “Not a knee length flimsy garment like the other women wear?” put in Dr. Proceban.

     “No. I've decided I will appear to this man, Francis Seven, exactly as what I am: an alien, and what I tell him will be primarily the truth. He's too intelligent to try and fool with some contrived backstory or pretend story as to my presence there. However, I have decided to change my eye color from what it normally is to gray.”

     “So,” said Tregar, “you won't appear too alien, but able to blend into the populace if need be.”

     “Exactly. Doctors, I'll communicate at intervals whenever I find an opportunity to appraise you of my progress and any changes I deem necessary. Tregar,” she added, turning in his

direction, where he stood glaring at her, “you'll be in Command, of course and it will be you I communicate with. I'll be leaving within the hour.”

     “So, soon?” asked her brother-in-law.

     “Sooner the better.”

     And then, she departed the cramped room for her quarters, emerging half an hour later, dressed in a form-fitting skinsuit which detailed every part of her anatomy as if her skin had been painted, rather than covered in fabric. The lower part of the one-piece garment was black as night, and the top half was made of a metallic-appearing silver fabric. All in all, it drew various reactions from the crew she passed and those waiting for her in the transporter room. Especially Tregar.

     “You're not wearing that, surely!” he hissed in her ear.

     “I don't recall you ever being so modest in public, either on Meldana or off-world. If you can put your attributes on such intricate display, I see no reason I can't do the same.”

     “Suit yourself,” he countered, stalking away to the control console, while she stepped on the central disk of the raised platform.

     Seconds later, Vera felt the familiar tingling of her molecules being disassembled and then reassembled in a strange place and the vague form of a tall man all in black, his shoulder-length brown curly hair raked back in disarray as he stared at her.

     “ _Destiny, here I come,_ she thought. _“Ready or not.”_

 

The End

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually not the end, if you want to pursue the story further. The same character appears in the "Sandlady" novella written for Logan's Run fandom.


End file.
